Wanted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 8) (20 page)

“And the evidence your forensics teams find will verify what I just told you,” she told him, a bite to her voice this time. This was bullshit and the last thing she needed right now on top of everything she’d been through tonight. “In case you weren’t aware, I used to be a lawyer. I know how this works.”

Now the older one looked up at her. “We know you do.” His tone suggested that’s exactly why they were paying close attention to every detail she told them. As if they were suspicious that she would try and manipulate the facts to make herself look innocent.

It infuriated her.

“So then you’ll know that in a clear case of self-defense, the law dictates that once the police rule it the same, no charges will be brought forward. In my case they won’t need a judge or DA to dismiss any pending charges, because there were never any charges against me to begin with.” She would never wind up in court in a case like this. Not with the evidence to back up her statement.

A sharp knock at the door made her gaze jerk toward it.

Celida stepped inside the open door and closed it behind her, her gaze going from Zoe to the detectives. She must have seen how upset Zoe was, because her gray eyes chilled to ice as she stared at them. “Didn’t know you guys were coming tonight. Sorry I’m late.”

She strode forward like she owned the place, held up her badge. “Special Agent Celida Morales. And you gentlemen are?” She put the badge away and folded her arms across her chest.

“Just finishing up,” Zoe answered for them. “They decided to question me now, saving me the trip into town in the morning.” She put on a tight smile. “Wasn’t that thoughtful of them?”

The younger one’s mouth quirked in a semblance of a smile at the edge to her words. “We just want this wrapped up as soon as possible. Once the forensics and autopsy reports are in we’ll be able to tell more, and clear you of everything if your story matches the evidence.”

“It will,” she told him coldly. They were doing their jobs, but considering all that had happened to her, they were totally insensitive asshats who could have handled this a thousand times better. They’d upset her all over again and Zoe wanted them gone. “Is there anything else? It’s been a hell of a long night and I’d just as soon get back to bed now.”
You pricks
.

“We understand,” the younger one said. He glanced at his partner and raised his eyebrows in silent question.

The partner nodded. “I think we’ve covered everything. If we need more, we’ll be in touch.” He set his card on the coffee table in front of Zoe, began to rise.

“You’ll want my statement too before you leave,” Celida added, “since I was the one with her when the shooting happened at the dress shop. I was also there when the car bomb went off, and I saw Amanda Whitaker take her at gunpoint.”

The two men glanced at each other, then the older one sat down. “Sure.”

“You go on to bed, hon,” Celida said without looking at her, still pinning the men with that cold gray stare. “I’ll finish up with these guys and show them out.” Her tone made it clear she couldn’t wait to see the back of them, would tear into them once Zoe had left the room.

Zoe had never loved her more.

“Thanks.” Part of her wanted to stay and watch, but she was exhausted and wanted to be alone for a while. Zoe rose and retreated to her room, shutting the door tight. Celida would come talk to her when she was done and fill her in on all the details of how she’d verbally annihilated the detectives.

The thought made her feel slightly better, but not much. Now she was wide awake, everything they’d dredged back up fresh in her mind.

She crawled into bed and pulled the covers up, Clay’s spicy scent rising from the sheets. Her thoughts and emotions were all jumbled up, leaving her feeling battered and bruised on the inside. And Clay was still out there right now with Tuck and the others, all of them putting themselves in danger once again while they went after the shooter.

She loved him and knew what being on the HRT meant to him, but man, sometimes she hated his job.

Pulling his pillow to her chest, she hugged it close, and breathed in his familiar, comforting scent as she stared into the darkness.

****

No one moved as the team waited for them to assess this newest threat.

Clay and Tuck edged closer to the trip wire, watching carefully for any other surprises Grande might have left for them. Judging by the size of the bloodstains on the floor beneath the trip wire, Grande had spent at least a few minutes here while he rigged it up.

Using his tac light Clay leaned around the doorframe, followed the wire up to where it attached to the pin of a frag grenade. After Tuck checked the other end and they verified it was the only weapon involved, Clay unhooked it, careful not to disturb the pin, and set it aside on the floor.

“Clear,” he whispered.

“Clear,” Tuck echoed.

As a unit they started forward again.

The blood trail thinned out now, led toward the laundry room, ending where a rug had been shoved to the side. Tuck shone his tac light on the floor, illuminating the trap door with its metal-ring handle. He and Clay crouched down, and sure enough, more wires crisscrossed the top of it.

“More wires,” Tuck whispered, then he and Clay set about untangling the mess.

Clay didn’t like sitting outside the trapdoor like this when their armed suspect was holed up below, but there was no way around it. All the grenades had to be rendered inert before they could attempt to breach the trapdoor.

There were five wires in all. He and Tuck worked quickly to disarm everything, then stepped back and motioned the others forward. But there were likely more surprises waiting on the other side of the trapdoor.

Everyone knew what to do.

Following Tuck’s hand signals, they fanned out around the opening, keeping a careful distance from it. If this asshole was still alive down there, he had any number of places he could shoot from and an unknown number of grenades or other booby traps waiting for them. They had to be aware of the angles.

Evers bent down and carefully lifted the handle a fraction of an inch, then waited. Clay checked for wires, saw none, then pulled a flash bang from his vest and stood across the trap door from Tuck, weapon pointed toward the opening. The second Evers lifted that sucker, it was go time.

Tuck looked around the circle, making sure everyone was ready, then gave Evers a sharp nod. “Go.”

Evers wrenched the door open and reared back. Shots instantly erupted through the opening, the rounds whizzing past Schroder to bury into the wall behind him. The medic was already diving out of the way as Clay and Tuck tossed in the flash bangs.

Not today, motherfucker
, Clay thought as the small explosions went off, pointing the muzzle of his weapon in the direction the shots had come from and fired a controlled burst. Tuck did the same from the opposite side.

Agonized screams came from the crawlspace.

While everyone covered him Tuck quickly checked for more tripwires then dropped down into the crawlspace, Clay right behind him. His boots hit the dusty concrete, a damp, musty smell invading his nose, along with the smells of cordite and blood.

Both of them veered to opposite walls of the crawlspace, and in the beam of his tac light Clay saw their shooter. He was slumped in the far corner, just as they’d expected, a rifle fallen across his lap and a hand pressed to his belly.

The guy was visibly struggling to breathe, had at least three wounds that Clay could see. There was blood on his face and right shoulder. Looked like he’d lost a lot of it.

“FBI. Hands up,” Clay barked. He was in front of Tuck now, blocking the other man’s view.

The shooter opened his eyes, his face a mask of pain and hate as he stared back at Clay.

Right back at you, motherfucker.

But the guy didn’t put his hands up.

His mistake.

“Do it fucking
now
!” Clay took a step toward him, his finger curled around the trigger. This son of a bitch was going
down
.

“I don’t see any more wires,” Tuck told him. Clay acknowledged with a single nod, never taking his eyes off his target.

The suspect grimaced in pain and began to move his right hand upward, the left pressed to his belly. But then Clay saw the butt of the pistol he’d grabbed, saw him begin to swing it toward his own head.

No way, asshole. You’re not getting off that easy
. They were taking him in so interrogators could squeeze every last ounce of intel out of him.

Clay fired once, the bullet smashing through the hand holding the pistol.

The suspect’s ear-piercing scream of rage and agony was music to Clay’s ears.

Clay raced over and kicked the rifle out of his lap, grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and flipped him facedown onto his wounded belly, pinning him there with a knee in the back of his neck. Tuck dropped down and secured his hands behind his back, both Tuck and Clay oblivious of the way he writhed and screamed.

When he was secured, Clay stood and stared down at the shooter, anger and satisfaction crashing through him. This asshole had nearly killed Zoe. Would have killed him and as many of Clay’s teammates as possible, given the chance. For fucking
money
.

Hope you burn in hell
, he shot at him silently.

He tore his gaze away from the bleeding prisoner, looked back toward the trap door opening where Schroder was waiting, guarding him and Tuck. “He’s all yours, Doc,” he muttered under his breath, and walked away from the suspect.

It was over. Zoe and the team were safe now.

With those wounds and that amount of blood he’d lost, Clay doubted Grande would make it to the hospital alive. As for him, he would be back in his nice warm bed, holding Zoe naked in his arms long before the sun came up.

The way Clay saw it, it was poetic justice at its best.

“Did you find it?”

”Yes.” Zoe hurried toward the bride, bouquet in hand.

Second wedding-related disaster averted
. Things usually happened in threes, but not today. Not on her watch.

But after the real near disaster the other night, these wedding hiccups were downright laughable.

Her life had been a whirlwind ever since, filled with interviews with various law enforcement personnel, doctor appointments and pulling off this wedding. She considered it a total miracle that they’d both been able to find replacement dresses this morning, and have them semi-tailored for the ceremony today.

“Here.” She handed Celida the flower arrangement that had to weigh ten pounds, and stepped back to admire her friend. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

There had never been a moment when Celida and Tuck had considered calling off the wedding. On the contrary; the attack the other night had solidified the need to make it happen as soon as possible.

“You have to say that because you’re my best friend.”

“Do not. I’m serious. You’re breathtaking.”

Celida blinked a couple times as though she was getting teary, then narrowed her eyes at Zoe in warning. “Don’t you dare make me cry.”

“After all the work I put into your eye makeup? Please.” Celida’s gray eyes practically glowed with the smoky effect of the shadow and liner Zoe had applied. She wound her arms around her best friend’s shoulders and hugged her tight. “I love you guys so much. Thank you for giving my cousin the love he deserves. You guys are perfect for each other.”

Celida squeezed her once, then pushed her away. “Dammit, you’re gonna make me freaking cry. Where’s a damn tissue when you need one?” She waved a hand rapidly in front of her face, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Right here.” Zoe pulled one from a box on a table behind her and handed it over.

Celida dabbed at her eyes then blew her nose, glaring at Zoe. “No more mushy stuff.”

“It’s a wedding, Lida. There’s going to be mushy stuff.”

She huffed out a breath and muttered, “I don’t want to cry in front of everyone.”

“Then don’t. Leave the crying to me, the hopeless romantic.”

Celida smiled fondly at her. “Yeah. Kinda love that about you, by the way.”

“Me too,” she confessed with a grin.

Just then Taya poked her head in the room, her eyes lighting up when she saw Celida. “Look at you,” she breathed. “Tuck’s gonna lose it when he sees you.” She put a hand to her mouth, as though she might start crying.

Celida laughed. “You guys are a bunch of saps.” She smoothed a hand down the filmy white veil she wore over her face. “Am I good to go?”

“Yes,” Zoe answered with a smile. “Let’s do this.”

Outside the bedroom of the little B&B Tuck and Celida had rented out for the occasion, Special Agent Greg Travers stood waiting, a well-built man in his mid-forties. His light blue eyes widened when he saw Celida in her gown. “Holy shit.”

Celida snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

Travers shook his head quickly, the light catching in the silver starting to encroach into his brown hair. “No, sorry. It’s just, I mean
look
at you.”

Given that he was used to seeing her in work attire on a daily basis, Zoe wasn’t surprised by his reaction. Celida was flat out stunning.

Travers gave her a boyish grin and offered his arm. “Shall we?” Since Celida didn’t have any close family, Travers had volunteered to walk her down the aisle.

“Yes.” She hooked her arm through his, shot Zoe a confident smile. “Let’s go.”

While Taya scurried out to take her seat on the back lawn with Schroder, Zoe took up position at the French doors leading to the backyard and waited for the violinist to start up. As the music began, she stepped out into the bright September sunshine. Immediately her gaze sought and locked on Clay, who was standing up front with Tuck.

Her heart rolled over in her chest. James Bond had nothing on her man.

In that tux, Clay was the most mouthwatering thing she’d ever seen in her life. His broad chest and shoulders filled out the fitted jacket to perfection. She’d barely seen him since he left for the op to get Grande the other night and was looking forward to some hardcore, uninterrupted couple time together over the next few days.